Nightmare
by Les 3 Amies
Summary: Dark. Tom Riddle is Ginny Weasley's worst nightmare, and he's begun visiting her while her family are asleep. TMR&GW, Written by Israe.
1. Prologue

_This is just something I've been wanting to do for a while. I'm not anticipating it being even remotely long. The parts are quite short, and they'll remain that way._

_Note to readers: if you've read my other stories and are reading this because you like them, I beg you not to read this one if you aren't old enough to. It's rated M for a reason._

Disclaimer: I don't own JKR's characters or world.

**Prologue**

**I**

Ginny Weasley wasn't afraid of many things. She didn't like thunderstorms much, this was true. But people – no, she didn't scare easily when it came to people. She was a true Gryffindor: assertive, confident and brave. Her long hair whispered of raging fire, her eyes glinted like steel when she was determined, and her posture showed unwavering confidence. It was no wonder that the boys of Hogwarts stood no chance against her. She was a modern lioness, and she didn't play second to any man. She seemed fearless to those around her.

What Ginny kept to herself, however, was that the one person who did have the power to frighten her was the one person she needed to be strongest against. One person had the power to send her stumbling back against the wall, knees shaking and face paling. He was the boy who had kept her imprisoned in her own mind for nearly a year while he used her physical form to commit acts of unspeakable horror against her friends and classmates. During all that, she had felt her mind begin to crumble apart, piece by piece. This year-long series of possessions had instilled a fear so deep within her that she didn't dare mention it to anyone. The complete loss of control she felt was terrifying, and she projected this fear onto the man behind it.

No matter what name he chose to call himself, Tom Riddle frightened Ginny Weasley to death.

Five years later, after the cataclysmic and cathartic Battle of Hogwarts, she still saw him in her nightmares. He often stood over her on the stone floor of the Chamber of Secrets, while she was still on the floor, unable to move a muscle. She was incapable of even protesting against her own captivity, as her voice always deserted her during these nightmares. It didn't desert her in the waking world, though. Years ago, after she had learned how, she had taken to casting a silencing charm on herself each night before she went to bed, lest she dream of Riddle and awake screaming. One or two nights she had forgotten, and those were the nights when she had lied to her concerned mother, saying that yes, she was perfectly alright. It had only been a stupid nightmare, nothing at all to worry about. It happened to everyone, after all.

He would show up looking as he always had when Ginny had seen him in his memories. He was handsome, undeniably so. It was no wonder she had fallen hard for him during her first year at Hogwarts. At the time she had thought that he was the perfect man: handsome, sympathetic, kind, and obviously talented enough to be able to leave something like that diary behind. He was everything her eleven-year-old self could've dreamed of – except of course, that he wasn't Harry Potter. The real boy of her dreams. Strangely though, she found that she wasn't too broken up by this fact. Harry Potter was unattainable. He was a sort of mythical figure in her mind; a mythical figure that she just so happened to have met. She had barely spoken to him, owing to the debilitating shyness that always overtook her whenever he was nearby. But Tom…Tom was there, he would speak to her, and she found that this crippling shyness never occurred when she spoke to him. He was no more intimidating than one of her brothers.

Though, of course, she had never harbored a secret desire to kiss one of her brothers.

When she looked back at her first year, she could see how much of an enigma Tom had remained. Whenever they had corresponded – for that was the best way she could think to describe it – the topic of conversation had been focused on her: her life, her troubles, her feelings and dreams. He had rarely revealed anything about his life. She now knew that his act had been perfectly designed to draw her towards him. She was an egocentric little child, focused entirely on herself. She had felt alone in this new setting, away from her parents for the first time in her life, and her brothers had been treating her less like a sister and more annoying little girl. It was understandable that she had been miserable and lonely. Riddle had seen that loneliness straight away, and he had taken full advantage of it. She hadn't even noticed that she knew virtually nothing about him, as wrapped up in her own problems as she had been.

When her first year had ended and Riddle's (for she couldn't bring herself to call this boy Voldemort) memory had been destroyed, she had felt a tinge of sadness along with the relief that came from having her own body back. She had spent the year developing a bond with this boy and, as shallow as the bond may have been, she had neglected many other potential relationships for it. She had decided that the next year she would make up for this reclusiveness. Upon returning to Hogwarts, she greeted everyone she met warmly and confidently. Eventually this confidence and charisma became more than a façade that she hid behind. By the time she had reached her fourth year at Hogwarts, she had become the true picture of a Gryffindor. She was dauntless and beautiful, and the boys clamored over her. Through all of this, she didn't forget either of the boys from her first year of Hogwarts. She still secretly revered Harry, and she still lived in terror of the memory of Riddle.

As the years passed, her beauty grew, and her relationship with Harry blossomed. The day he had kissed her had seemed to draw out a part of her life that she had neglected until that point. At that moment, she had finally felt like her life was complete, and that her unfulfilled dreams had pushed their way into the open. The feeling had disappeared when Harry, Ron and Hermione had set off on their unknown mission. Her nightmares, which had disappeared during the time she was with Harry, returned as soon as he had left. She expected them to disappear again once the war was over and Lord Voldemort had been defeated. When he came back to her, she felt that finally her life would be peaceful. It would be a new beginning.

Her dreams, however, had other plans.

**II**

In the middle of the hot July night, Ginny Weasley awoke in a cold sweat. Her eyes didn't immediately adjust to the darkness, and in the period between waking up and being able to see her surroundings, she thought she saw the faint outline of a person hovering near her bedside. When she turned toward the figure, still too terrified and too disoriented to reach for her wand to create light, its shadow seemed to flee as her gaze reached it. She blinked several times, trying to speed up her eyes' adjustment, but she could see nothing where the shadow had been. By the time she could clearly discern the outlines of her furniture and wall hangings, her heart had slowed and she had managed to convince herself that the figure had only been a remnant of a nightmare that she now couldn't remember. This had been happening more and more frequently. She had been having these nightmares and waking, trembling with a cry upon her lips. But when she tried to pull the contents of her dream from her subconscious, they seemed to flee, just as the imaginary shadow had fled.

As a precaution, she pulled her wand out from where it was resting under her pillow and muttered a spell that caused the tip of her wand to ignite. She regretted it for a moment as it temporarily blinded her and caused the fear that always came when she was blinded to come swooping back. She held her hand between her eyes and the wand to cover the worst of the light, and surveyed her room carefully. The schoolbooks she had dumped in the corner after the year's end were still piled haphazardly against her trunk, which she still hadn't finished emptying. The sleeve of a blouse that she rarely wore was hanging out of the side of the trunk. She was about to put extinguish her wand's light when she noticed something she hadn't noticed before.

Not daring to crawl out from under the covers of the bed, as irrational as she knew she was being, she edged closer to the foot of the bed to get a better look at the sleeve hanging out from the trunk. Near the hem was a reddish-brown stain that looked remarkably like blood. Ginny gulped involuntarily. That blood could've come from one of many sources. There wasn't even a guarantee that it was _her_ blood. After all, to say that the previous year at Hogwarts had been chaotic was an understatement. It was completely possible – no, _likely_ – that the shirt had gotten stained during one of the many small fights that broke out in the castle. There was no reason that she should be frightened by one little bloodstain.

And yet, she found that she was. She couldn't help feeling that she had dreamed of something like this, but she couldn't pull out any image that even remotely matched what she was focusing on.

She scooted back towards her pillows, extinguished the light from her wand and plunged it back underneath the pillowcase. Then, after pulling the blankets quickly up to her chin, she squeezed her eyes shut and tried to clear her mind before imagining Puffskeins jumping over a fence until she fell back asleep.

_This story will be a bit more freeform than my other ones. I'll be jumping around when I feel like it, and the parts will be generally shorter. That said, I hope you enjoy it, and please review._


	2. Part One

_Sorry I haven't updated anything in a bit. I've been busier than usual. As it is, this part was technically already written, and all I had to do was proofread it. I'll try to put the next one up very soon, since it's so short and it's already written, as well._

_If the writing in this seems really jerky, try to ignore that. That's part of it. I'm going more for the experience than a fluid story._

**Part One**

The summer heat was sweltering. After finishing her chores early, Ginny headed outside with a glass of icy water and one of her mother's paperback romance novels that she had swiped. It was an unusually hot July day, and Ginny could practically see the waves of heat radiating from the cracked ground. In the distance she could hear Ron and Harry batting something on broomsticks. Normally she would've joined them…it would be good practice if she ever wanted to play Quidditch professionally. Today, however, she was just too hot. Too hot and too tired.

She laid the book over her knee to save her page and leaned her head back against the chair, squinting against brightness of the sun. She sat like this for several minutes, trying to focus on the rare cool breezes that rushed by her. A loud crack came from the direction of Harry and Ron, but she didn't bother to look. It was probably just one of her brothers, come back to visit for the afternoon. They had been turning up more often after the war had ended, especially George. The death of his twin had hit him harder than it had anyone else in the family – and that was really saying something. Mrs. Weasley still rushed out of the room to cry whenever Fred's name was mentioned, and Mr. Weasley's mouth twisted whenever the subject came up. Ginny missed him terribly as well, but she refused to cry. Fred wouldn't have wanted any more sadness in the world, she was sure.

She sighed, and was just considering starting on the book again when a voice behind her asked "Good book?"

Ginny jumped and turned around to see George standing behind her, with one hand on his hip and his missing ear pointed down toward his shoulder where it was nearly hidden beneath the hair he'd been growing out.

"'_Charming the Chevalier'_," he read over her shoulder. "I didn't know this was the sort of stuff you were into, Ginny." He grinned.

She laughed. "It's mum's, and don't you dare tell her I've been reading it. She'd hex me to kingdom come if she knew I'd borrowed it." She snapped it shut and handed it to her brother. "Here, hide it while we go inside. I haven't got any pockets." He stowed it away.

On days like this, Mrs. Weasley usually made large lunches that weren't to be missed – even Mr. Weasley took off from work and came home for them whenever he could. Ginny grabbed George's hand, and together they set off for the house. These lunches were the one time that they truly felt like a family again.

As bright and beautiful as the day had been, it had all faded into the back of Ginny's mind as she lay awake in bed that night. She had left the window open to let in any breezes that might come, but it was a vain hope. Grudgingly, she resigned herself to sleeping on top of the blankets. It was just too warm to even consider covering up. She didn't like the feeling of sleeping above the blankets. It left her feeling exposed, even if there was no chance of anyone coming into her room.

Nights had gotten worse for Ginny. In addition to the nightmares that she still suffered through, she now awoke nearly every night feeling a presence in the room with her. It was always in that same place – to the immediate right of her bed. Each night it fled before she had time to shine her wand at it. She was becoming increasingly paranoid and losing sleep. Even her mother had begun to notice, preoccupied as she was with trying to return the household to normal after Fred's death during the final battle.

This night, Ginny was awake long after the rest of the Weasleys had dozed off. When she finally checked her watch, the time read just after three in the morning. She sighed and closed her eyes, rubbing the palms of her hands over them in frustration. A moment later, she rose and went to grab an old robe from her bureau. She spread it over herself on the bed and used it as a makeshift blanket. It wasn't as warm as one of the quilts would have been, and it made her feel less exposed. She burrowed her head into the pillow and tried to count breaths until she fell asleep. Just as she was about to slide into her dreams, the wind howled through the room. She hardly heard it, and slipped under a moment later.

The next morning Ginny awoke feeling exhausted. When she examined herself in the mirror she found dark circles under her eyes. The skin around her eyes was translucently pale, despite her feeble attempts to sun herself, and she could see the purple of the veins under her eyelids and beneath her eyes. She flipped the mirror over and brushed her hair without looking at her reflection before heading down to breakfast.

Afternoon found Ginny once again sitting in a chair under the burning sun, reading another one of her mother's novels. This one ('_The Mage's Mistress')_ featured a picture of a girl who looked not unlike Ginny on the cover, with her flaming red hair and determined jaw. Ginny found this most amusing, and she was passing the time imagining herself in the most embarrassing scenes from the book with various dark, handsome men playing the role of the male protagonist and lover.

She was deeply immersed in her own imagination, seeing in her mind's eye the man from the story swooping up a fainting, victimized woman. While Ginny herself had never fainted for any petty reason, she didn't mind imagining herself from time to time as the heroine of a story which featured a dashing hero who charged to his lady's rescue with no regard to the peril of the situation. Of course, Ginny mused, she did indeed have a dashing hero in her own life. If something were to ever happen to her – Merlin forbid – Harry would swoop in to rescue her as surely as any hero from a romance novel. The image of Harry in ancient magical armor, brandishing a giant staff like the mage in the novel caused Ginny to smile.

Her thoughts were interrupted suddenly by a glint of something dark off to her right. She quickly turned her head but nothing was there. She shook her head and dismissed it as a figment of her imagination. Picking the book back up from where she had set it on the dry grass during her daydream, she resumed reading about the majestic Thomas and his fair Giselle.

The next few nights dragged by slowly. Ginny was falling asleep more quickly now that she was worn out, but she rarely stayed asleep for longer than an hour at a time, and the shadowy figure that she kept seeing out of the corner of her mind had become a permanent fixture. She hardly even bothered to look at it anymore, and instead she turned her back to it and huddled under her old robe for protection. But the protection of the robe didn't keep the hairs on the back of her neck from standing up, and she began to feel like something was touching her in the darkness, slithering up and down her spine like a snake. She began to think that she was cracking up from exhaustion.

The shadowy figure that had been invading her thoughts during the night show began to show up consistently during the day. Ginny had taken to helping her mother with things around the house, rather than lie outside and read. The flash of black never seemed to appear when she was around her mother – or anyone else for that matter. She sought the safety that came with being with someone else, even if this did mean that she spent very little time by herself.

She continued to seek this protection by lazing around with her father when he returned home from work. She even helped with a few of his new gadgets that he'd grabbed from work. With Harry's help, they'd dismantled a muggle toaster and an electric lamp within the space of a few weeks. Ginny began to look forward to this time spent with Harry and her father, and she was tempted to ask to borrow the lamp to leave on during the night.

One night, Ginny awoke from the deepest sleep she had managed in days. Disoriented, she started to sit up before realizing that the dark figure was once again standing next to her bed. She froze and reached under her pillow, fumbling for her wand. She managed to light the tip nonverbally and, in one sudden movement, she pointed it to her right, directly at the figure standing there.

Standing directly in front of her was the sixteen-year-old figure of Tom Marvolo Riddle.

_Reviews are always appreciated._


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